Now That It's Gone
by HilaryHilary
Summary: Charlie reflects on the one thing he's let himself want. Sometimes happy endings come at a price, sometimes they don't come at all. CharlieClaire oneshot.


Now That It's Gone

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Author's note: This story is written at the request of my friend Davis. And obviously it's CharlieClaire, and takes a few months ahead of where the show is now.

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Charlie thoughtfully strummed his guitar. He remembered once, a lifetime ago, when his guitar had tied him in to his emotions and made him feel whole again.

He still couldn't remember quite how it happened. Everything had been fine. He'd finally found a place for himself, as a surrogate father, even as a potential lover. Somehow it had all unraveled. Somehow he'd found himself commiting arson, having hallucinations, helping Sawyer commit his long con.

It wasn't worth it. Only one thing was worth it.

Her.

He missed her. She was never off his mind anymore. What had started out as a simple good deed had turned in to all he lived for. More than anything, he wanted it back. He wanted her back.

Charlie had done everything for her. Helped her, calmed her, protected her to the best of his ability. Retrieved her child. It had turned out to be too much.

It wasn't until afterward that he realized it was too late to tell her. To tell her that he loved her.

He thought of the other women in his life. His mother, who'd believed in him. Lucy, who'd trusted him. Who else was there? Only her. Claire, who'd broken his heart, who'd relied on him but not wanted him.

As the numbers on the wall flicked down from 108, he thought resentfully of John Locke. Who had everything Charlie wanted and then some. He wondered who little Aaron would remember as his father. Charlie wished more than anything that he was the boy's father. More than anything.

He thoughtfully dunked his finger in to the open jar of peanut butter beside him. This was what kept him sane, or anything close to it. His guitar and memories of her. Of them, though they'd never been a them, and most likely never would be.

It really wasn't fair. Everyone else was happy. Sawyer seemed to be getting intimate with the only other islander everyone seemed to hate-the Latina girl who'd killed Shannon. Jack and Kate were nauseating together, Sun and Jin were preparing for their first child, Bernard and Rose were happy as ever.

He was surprised he'd even landed this shift. Recently, shifts had been coveted by couples looking for a clean bed to spend an hour and a half in. Even solemn, hatch hating Jack didn't mind his trysts with his lover there.

He wondered what would happen after the island, if there was an after the island. Charlie had some faith that the couples would stay together, that they'd remain in contact. Would he ever see her, besides an occasional reunion? It seemed hard to believe. She wanted nothing to do with him, and hadn't for months.

Guitar strumming and dwelling distracted him from the footsteps approaching. He looked up in surprise as the small blonde entered.

"Claire," he said in amazement. She liked how he said her name, with his accent.

"I took a walk and I ended up here," she said, sounding as surprised as he looked.

He nodded, trying to keep the eager smile off his face. He stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to remember how long it had been since he'd taken advantage of the hatch shower.

He wanted to tell her that Locke wasn't there, and that he didn't mind anyways. But it wasn't true. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He wanted to tell her that he just wanted to help, to be a father. That he didn't even mind sharing, so long as he got a part of her, a part of them.

She opened her mouth and closed it again. She had nothing to say.

There was nothing to say.

Charlie dropped his guitar onto the chair beside him and stood, walked toward her. She looked at him in surprise as he held out the jar of peanut butter and offered it to her. She looked between him and it for a moment.

She smiled, remembering.

Slowly, not breaking eye contact with him, she reached forward and dipped her index finger in to the jar and licked it clean.

He smiled down at her. Maybe they'd never hook up. Maybe they'd never be married. Maybe he'd never be Aaron's father.

Maybe this, her, peanut butter, them, was all he needed.


End file.
